Of mutants and men
by LadyRavenwing
Summary: Mostly Magneto / Mystique: When the nightmares came she would be by his side, her very presence soothing. But he wondered whether any mutant could ever truly find peace in a world that had already proven it was against them. How foolish would they be to not try and stop what had already been set into motion? ... Set after First Class. (includes spoilers for Days of Future Past)
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I don´t own any of these guys of course. This is entirely movieverse, I never read any of the comic books._

**Prologue**

_The rain. _

_A constant downpour, cold and merciless, soaking into already soaked ground, turning the paths into grey muck that crept into old shoes, up dirty, tired legs, made him almost slip. _

_That rain, falling, falling in an endless drumming of drops making tin roofs and barbed wire sing in a dissonant kind of music, unnvering him and putting him on edge. Not even music. Just sound, rhythmic in a strange way, but erratic. Tugging on the edges of his consciousness. Water on metal. Drip. Drip. Drip. Strangely, that was and had always been one of the most haunting memories. He could never tell why. _

_In his memory it sometimes seemed like there had never been anything in his life before the rain, nothing before the cold, before the rough hands of the soldiers, yelling commands in German – a tongue he had acquired as a little boy from childhood friends mostly but that was forever embedded in his mind as the language of his tormenters. The language of those that has taken his father and mother. In some of the most desolate moments, not even of memory, but of dream, there had never been anything before and after and he was trapped in that endless rain. That endless cold. The fear. The neverending, taunting drip, drip drip drip of water on metal. Fear and anxiety amplifying what he had until then not even classified as a gift. Over and over. _

_There was rarely any coherence to what happened. It didn´t play out with any proper chronology. No before, no after, just fragments. The screams of his mother, the intense jolt that he could feel through his entire body as his powers kicked in, bending the metal of the gate, the pain of the back of the soldier´s gun knocking him out, the thud with which his body hit the muddy ground as the last thing he felt… only snippets. Never a complete memory. Fragments. As if his mind could not bear to take it all in once again._

_This time it was the last time he had held his mother, the frantic clinging of her fingers, trying to curl around his, trying to grasp and hold tight. "You must not let go, do you hear me, Eric?" He could clearly remember her eyes, the way she had looked like him like someone haunted as she had clasped his shoulder. "Never let go." She must have known… "Never let go, Eric."_

_She had been scared, so scared, for him. She had always been worried for him. Even before. Maybe she had been the only one who had known who he was, what he was. That thought had occurred to him later, much later, but in retrospect it made a lot of sense. "Never let go Eric." There had been panic in her voice, but had it been merely the sheer panic of a mother terrified to lose her child, her entire family, a mother who had heard there were selections right at the gates,…or the panic of a mother who had heard about experiments on anyone that was classified as different? Twins, he had read and heard later. Mengele had had a liking for those. Separated, taken from their parents directly upon arrival to be experimented on, to find out about their similarities, where they originated from, unspeakable crimes. Twins and…probably others, too. Had his mother known and feared not just for his life but also been afraid for worse things than death in the gas chambers to happen to him? Something worse than the hard labour that had killed so many of the weaker ones? Had she feared for her son to become the lab rat he had later become indeed?_

_His mind could not dwell on it. Never could Like was usual procedure in these nightmares it focused, fixed intensely on one painful fragment of memory, replaying it as a loop. That last time he felt her fingers grasping his. Her piercing, panicking scream as the soldiers and other people started to steer them away from each other. And then the connection was broken. _

"_Erik! No!"_

He was awake with a jolt, not entirely sure whether he had awoken with a scream, but his eyes snapped open, realizing where he was and that the drip drip drip was not the sound of rain on barbed wire on the borders of the gates of Auschwitz, but merely the drumming of a soft spring rain upon the window sill of a hotel near Washington DC. He believed to still feel his fingertips burning from the grasp so quickly and easily broken but twitching them, he could feel her shift in the dark, wordlessly conering his hand with hers as she moved under the covers beside him. He could feel the familiar sensation of her scaly skin brushing lightly against the side of his body and briefly thought she might be moving in slumber.

"Erik."

She wasn´t sleeping. "I am sorry , I didn´t mean to wake you." His voice sounded a little hoarse and he wondered whether he indeed had screamed. He felt shame rise in him. He did not like to show weakness of that kind, not even in front of her.

Again she shifted, he reckoned she was propping up her elbow and, turning his head, he could see her silhouette outlined against the dim light that spilled in through the window. "It´s okay." she replied before settling down again, her head against his chest. "I wasn´t really sleeping." He welcomed her closeness. She wouldn´t always grant him that and therefore he appreciated it all the more right now. He moved his left hand and gently let it run over her hair, flaming red he knew, but of course he couldn´t see that in the near darkness of the hotel room. The rain drops were still singing their dissonant song, but were more calming than unnerving now, an irregular, soothing rhythm, just like her breathing and the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she rested herself against him.

"Why not?" he asked into the darkness, his eyes directed at the ceiling. He knew why. At least he had a pretty good idea. A good enough idea to know better than asking and for a moment, as her slender form shifted he thought she might turn away from him to face the window. She didn´t. Not this time. "We all have our demons, Erik." she merely stated quizzically, leaving it up to him what to make of that, her voice calm, neutral but with a bit of an edge that told him she was struggling with her own ones, yet didn´t feel it to be the right time to drag them into the light. He decided it might be wisest not to linger on it. It wasn´t a good moment for that. But then again, it never really was. But she was here with him. Here. Now. Chasing away his nightmares. Could he admit that to himself?

"We do…" he replied, his hand still stroking her hair, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "We do."

When he fell asleep again it was dreamless.


	2. Chapter 1 - Hidden

_Author´s note: The story is going to kick off fully in this chapter, setting the stage so to say whereas what I previously posted was more a prologue. I hope the ones that read so far will keep coming back to read more and I would like to thank my first reviewers, thank you guys. :)_

_Jezebel DeTrazie_

Thank you very much. I was trying to give a first glimpse into who I believe to be a very complex character.

_Rebecca-in-blue: _

_That was just the emotion I wanted to create, great to see it came across that way. :)_

**Chapter 1**

_**Hidden**_

_**Washington DC, January 25**__**th**__** 1963 / 9.30 am**_

Lancer:

The headaches, the pain in his lower back and in a few other places would be a near constant companion now, if it weren´t for the drugs. Thinking back, Lancer was certain that there had been a time when he had not had to constantly worry about pain attacks, about his head getting that strange dizzy feeling where the voices would become too loud around him, intruding unbidden, making him lose his focus entirely. Yes, there had been that time and it had not been terribly long ago it seemed. He rubbed his temples with a sigh. The drugs meant a mere temporary relief these days and there was no shortage of them, but it meant a dulling of the senses too, so more often than not it meant sacrificing some of the sharpness of his mind for a few hours of not having to fight back wincing. A dulling of his other talent, too, the one that he kept a secret. If the world knew… He was aware that symptoms of his fading healthhad started to show, no matter how hard he fought them, but he had so far managed to carry himself with decent grace. It was a necessity. Once he started to stumble, he´d be devoured by the wolves around him, eager to take his place, there was no doubt about it.

Lancer reached for the folder, a number of white pages, print on paper, bound inside a thin cover in dark red leather, the letters engraved on the title subtly yet still in a way that made them stand out clearly against the remaining surface: TOP SECRET. He flipped it open, found the familiar documents, new files added now about the alleged whereabouts and connections of some of the individuals, supposed and monitured activities, intelligence details… the list on some of them seemed endless. He browsed page by page, the paper crumbling softly against his fingers, the only sound in the room.

_**Charles Francis Xavier**__, codename: Professor X: telepathy and mind control, further powers unknown. _

_**Erik Lensherr**__: codename Magneto: exact birth date unknown: manipulation of metals, deserted, current whereabouts unknown._

_**Raven Darkholme**__: codename: Mystique: exact birth date unknown: shapeshifter, deserted current whereabouts unknown. _

Those were just the top three. Other names floated by as he flipped through the files, a picture connected to each. People he had never met yet felt connected to on a level they were not aware of: _**Hank McCoy**__, scientist, superhuman strength and agility as well as shapeshifting, __**Armando Munoz**__,__codename: Darwin, deceased_ and more, some deceased like the latter, others with their whereabouts unknown, deserters some of them, all of them connected by one common factor: they had all been part of _Division X,_ which somehow, after those fateful days in November had come apart at the seams at that beach on Cuba. Maybe, he thought, it was better like that, a temprary division coming to an end. Better than the world ending like it might have, yet it stung him with a strange kind of empathy and sadness. Division X, Humans and mutants working together. He had liked that idea.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the file of another mutant, his picture showing the man´s body, a flat, slit shaped wound on his forehead indicated by no more than a little trickle of blood showing where some projectile had entered the dead man´s skull. A coin they had told him in the debriefing. A coin with a swastika on it, dated to Germany, made back in the fourties. Life could be so ironic, Lancer thought. They had had a quite fitting theory about who had brought along Shaw´s end as well. It only seemed plausible, yet his own feelings about the whole issue were mixed.

He closed the folder. Not a minute too early. He could feel his announced visitor approach before he knocked on the door still dozens of steps away, but the faint tugging of a foreign consciousness on his own was beginning to tap against his own mind, an annoying feeling he had never really liked, because it was almost intimate, an intrusion into the privacy of his own mind even though he knew the other was not even aware that he was basically thinking aloud to him. He had maybe a few seconds, he could not tell where the man was now, but he was approaching.

Lancer reached for the glass on the desk and gulped down the rest of it, praying that the drug would show its effects a little faster. Just when he was placing the glass back on the desk, there was a knock. Even through the wall, seconds before the other entered he could feel it. Jumbled thoughts had replaced the juggled tapping of the other´s consciousness against his own. Not all of his approaching visitor´s thoughts were kind. Lancer had learned by now that the other man was not fond of him to say the least. Having him in the same room almost posed a strain on Lancer´s jumbled powers, powers he had never been able to fully grasp, never been trained to use properly so that he could read the man´s mind but merely as an inconsistent stream of consciousness, like a stranger listening in on broadcast radio on a bad frequency, not in any way able to keep it out or control as his powers came and went, wavered like an unsteady tide.

He would not have to bear it for long. Just minutes he knew…the drugs would kick in, dulling out his clumsy telepathy to a mere soft hum against his skull and all of this would become bearable. "Come in" Lancer called out and placed the folder in front of him as he leant back in his chair, facing the door.

_**11.10**_

Mystique:

The room was surprisingly small. Blue carpet almost the shade of her natural skin colour, set with golden emblems, the ceilings lower than she had thought they would be. But certainly the hall felt more stuffy in the back when one walked up the stairs along the ranks of seats and then the galleries Today, most people were seated down in the half circle with the small podium in the middle that was dominated by three stout rows of tables, ascending and becoming more narrow with each step, the topmost standing right in front of a large American flag pinned between two marble columns. The man who was standing at the podium that divided the second lowest row just in front of it had the attention of the entire assembly while the gallery was devoid of visitors. No regular audience, just men in suits, members of Congress. She believed to have spotted one woman among them. One only if she wasn´t mistaken. What a fine display of democracy among these elected officials. Old white guys in suits. She silently wondered how many of them had a secret they didn´t share, how many were mutants. For a brief instant she wished Charles were with her. They would sit here, but on the gallery and, as they had done in their youth before, he would tell her who of the people among them was a mutant. She would guess and he´d tell her if she was right. If he was a little tipsy, otherwise he might scold her for such bold intrusion into people´s privacy. She shook her head slightly. Charles couldn´t be here. If he were, she wouldn´t. She was here because Erik had sent her.

Many meetings were open to the public, meetings in which legislature was discussed and voted on, but this one was not. Mystique didn´t know how to feel about that. She moved her right leg over her right and adjusted in her seat, once more getting used to the her current shape – the body of a 54 year old stocky balding congressman from New York. The man himself was peacefully slumbering in his car outside the premises and would have some headaches later but not more than that. Nobody would know what had happened to him, but it gave her a somewhat uneasy feeling all the same. One of the reasons she had chosen this one was that he had seemed the least likely to cause a frenzy with the press about memory gaps once he noticed he had missed the meeting. The man frequently drowned his breaking marriage in booze, so even once he was somehow filled in on what the topic of this meeting had been, he was not the guy with the necessary credibility or the spine to break some hilarious story of a shapeshifter taking over his life for a few hours to the media public.

She returned to the situation at hand as there was some murmuring in the front rows and the speaker of the House, an old, haggard looking man with shocks of white hair and thin rimmed glasses unnecessarily used his gavel to bring the assembly to order. He was nervous, she could tell from the way he pursed his lips, the way he folded and unfolded his hands. The same way her powers had developed, she had learned to have keen eyes on the people around her. It was a necessity to get the details right.

As the murmur died down, attention immediately went back to the man at the speaker´s podium. That man was younger, obviously military with an assortment of colourful badges on his uniform proving that he had served in more than one war. He had just finished his report which explained the interruption and it seemed like even the brief slamming of the gavel against the upper desk had not properly calmed it. The military looking man cleared his throat. "I have briefed the president on the current location of former Division X Members as far as they are known to us. Your duty, gentlemen, is to initiate the formalities that would grant me and my team the necessary financial means to using the intelligence capacity needed to keep an eye on these creatures." Mystique noted the man ignoring the presence of women in the room the same way she noted him denying her kind the term "people" or "individuals." She tried to keep herself from stirring at that.

"You come here claiming there was some…involvement of humans with special abilities in the Cuban Missile crisis and expect us to provide with funding?" The remark came from a middle aged man in the second row. "What next, General, do you expect us to believe in Superman?" A few of the congressmen chuckled at that, the face of the man at the podium froze into an annoyed almost smile. "No, congressman. Superman is a hero and on top of that, fictional. The creatures I am talking about are not. They are quite real and dangerous at that." His fingers loosened around the speaker´s podium. He gave a brief nod to someone in the back and the lights dimmed. A moment later, a white canvass covered the flag and a first photograph appeared, cast by a projector. It showed a missile, bent and twisted. Mystique had to suppress a smile, immediately identifying the thing as something that had come in touch with Erik´s powers. The murmur rose again, died down when the man spoke. "This is one out of several dozen missiles aboard our ships in front of the Cuban coast last November, all of them rendered useless by the powers of one of them. Others were exploded in mid air. We have crew who will support this under oath."

_Only what you are not telling them_, Mystique thought angrily, _is that these things were not just twisted and bent aboard their ships and fixed and mounted, but bent and sent back as Erik turned them away from us… after they planned to blow us to bits on that beach. _

Another slide, another black and white photograph. This one drew more gasps. It showed the canons of one of the battleships, bent in an abnormal way. "The entire arsenal of the fleet dispatched to Cuba is useless and yet we luckily got off without even more damage done. One of them, gentlemen. One was enough to, after we trusted them with the important task of keeping this nation safe, almost kill the entire crew of several of our entire fleet down there, not to mention he nearly caused World War III." After that, the murmuring broke into excited, agitated chatter. Her shape seemed to have been a good choice, Mystique thought. Not just a bad husband and an alcoholic, but also not considered worthy of being included into conversation by his colleagues. She was left alone and was glad for it. "That´s merely one of them. Imagine what the entire Division could be capable of, if they band together, team up against us now that they have disbanded and withdrawn themselves from government authority."

Another congressman raised a hand and spoke before called upon. "So this is just about one individual. One in about half a dozen, General. What about the others? My sources tell me one of them has taken up residence in a mansion in Westchester, New York. Why would there be a need to keep an eye on him and his associates seeing he seems to be quite willing to cooperate, just as he was before? This is…new and.. I admit it is shocking, but these…mutants seem to be quite an asset. We should be grateful for their service."

Patridge´s rebuttal was a sneer. "Your sources are not very well informed, congressman," he said. "The one you are talking about, one…" he browsed in the papers in front of him even though Mystique was certain he knew all the names in there by heart. "Charles Xavier is a telepath. There have been a few occasions and people who have met him before claiming they have acted strangely in his presence. Done and said things they usually wouldn´t do and that includes members of the US coast guard that swear under oath they were present right before Division X was assembled. Further details I am sorry to tell you are unfortunately above your paygrade, Sir." More murmurs, both in irritation at the response and as a reaction to the revelations. Mystique started to wish she could just leave. She probably could. Nobody would deem it strange, now and then congressmen just did walk out when they felt something didn´t go their way after all.

"You see this is why we need funding. There is going to be a special committee, gentlemen, tracking these creatures and making sure they can do no harm to us, investigating their role in the crisis and making sure that, if they have broken any laws, they are brought to justice accordingly. I am not asking you to break the law, I am asking you to supply me with financial means for a programme in accordance with the Constitution of this country, the very Constitution each and every one of you has sworn to protect. We have information, very secure information that at least one of the ones that has gone off our radar has at some point had strong ties to communist circles." _Azazal_, Mystique thought. _No doubt about it_. "This is one of the reasons the President has authorized me to speak to you today and present my plans, details of which have been already delivered to your offices. A vote on this better come earlier than too late, gentlemen."

Even with her limited understanding of politics, Mystique understood that what the man was doing here was brazen and the reactions of some of the representatives told her she was right with that feeling as two or three started to walk out, one of them being the one who had just spoken up. However, the others remained seated and the murmuring and reaction to the entire report spoke a clear language that this assembly would no doubt grant the general the fundings he was asking for. Fear, it seemed, was a powerful motivator.

They would have to hide, she realized, just as Erik had told her. _This is how it begins._ She remembered what he had said the night before, after he had woken from yet another nightmare. They came quite frequently, she had had no idea. In a way that had made her feel even closer to him. _This is how it begins my dear. First there is the fear, the irrational fear that will turn into hatred if it´s molded by the wrong minds. Turned into hatred, apathy of the masses…And then they will start coming for us…. _She had held him then, had wanted to tell him she didn´t believe it, that history would not repeat itself like he feared it would and back then she had felt rather confident about it. But when General Patridge kept talking, Erik´s fears started to sound more and more like a prophecy…


	3. Chapter 2 - Discrepancies

_Author´s note: Thanks again for the lovely reviews, they really mean a lot and are very encouraging. I always appreciate some feedback. :)_

_Liese13__: That´s exactly what´s motivating me. There are quite some gaps between the two movies, leaving a lot of room for speculation and potential for the one or other interesting story or development. I hope I´ll manage to do it some justice. _

_Jenna of the Red Robes__: Thanks a lot. I like putting in some detail, good to see it´s not seen as too much. :)_

**Chapter 2**

**Discrepancies**

Magneto

It was a strange feeling, but not really a novelty for him. He had lived in hiding before and he had used names other than his own to stay anonymous. Today, the receptionist greeted him with "Mr Bishop", since that was the name he had checked in under a few days ago (he liked to pick his alias with some style and borrowing from chess was as good as anything). The receptionist was a young brunette, somewhere around her mid twenties he guessed, usually shy but today offering him a radiant smile when he addressed her and asked for the keys. It would have been oh so simple to just summon them. A small tug of his powers, not even an effort. Not to mention that he could have easily clicked the bolts in the door itself into place, but it was important to keep up the illusion that he was merely Mr Bishop, a middle class businessman from New Hampshire, staying a few nights, on business, alone. Erik had no doubt that him and his friends being looked for already, and it was better to not rouse any unnecessary suspicion. It was easy for him to sneak Mystique in just as it was easy for her to stage as someone else to get access. Him for example. Nobody would be able to tell the difference. Not the brunette at least, which explained her unusually flirty smile she had not dared the day before. Erik suppressed a confused knitting of his eyebrows at that before he understood. Of course… he would really have to tell Raven to stop messing with people. It only meant additional trouble. He thanked the receptionist, took the keys and started for the elevator. As soon as he had stepped into it and the door had slid close, he pocketed them. The door, up on the third floor at the end of the corridor, he opened without them. It was a habit, he had noticed, using his powers wherever he could and since he could rarely do so safely, he savoured these little things, the tiny click of metal against metal which unlocked the door a pleasant little sensation in his mind.

It wasn´t a run-down hotel, but middle class accommodation as it suited his fake identity. A moderately sized room with two queen sized beds of which they used only one (mostly), a small bathroom adjacent to it, a small table and two chairs, no balcony. When he entered he found he was not the first one to arrive. Mystique was sitting on the bed, legs crossed comfortably, Azazel, who had become another asset to their small group of brave ones was sat on a chair near the window, the curtains were drawn. Erik scanned the room with his eyes, briefly catching himself thinking that this was just as it should be. These two proud creatures, Azazel unable to hide his being a mutant, Mystique never hiding it any more when not in public. _It´s how things ought to be everywhere…_

She looked up at him when he flung his hat onto the bed and took off his jacket. "How was work?" he asked, the slightly amused quip in his voice sounding a bit forced. He was eager to know, but dreading his suspicions to be confirmed. A common question, but they both knew what it was referring to.

"He was there," she said. "Partridge." He could tell that she was feeling uneasy by the slight flicker in her yellow reptile eyes. "They have pictures, of you, mostly Erik, and there is going to be an investigation on Cuba." Not much of a surprise, but still that didn´t mean he felt triumph at her work. He had warned her the night before that this was what was going to happen. "So he gets the funding?" She tossed him a glance. "For now." she replied and for just a moment it appeared to Erik how young she was and how unusual this role was for her. She had been with Charles most of her life, had had a safe life, as safe as it could be and now all of a sudden, after she had joined him, her life had been tossed off balance. Spying and tracking people was normal for him almost, but not so for her. He wondered what it was like for her to adapt to that, wondered if she liked it because it might be a challenge for someone with powers such as hers. "He was talking about a special unit to try and find out where the remaining members of Division X are, us and the ones that used to be with Shaw, such as Azazel." The red skinned mutant had been sitting almost motionlessly while Mystique had been talking, but got up when she stopped. "It was difficult to imperson Partridge, but she staged as one of his bodyguards, found out where his office is. We waited till people went home, then I went there and got us the report. We should just make sure to have it back there by tomorrow morning, or people could ask questions." The man´s English had a distinguished Russian accent that he had never truly lost, migrating between the blocks, literally jumping between east and west. Probably that accent alone, Erik thought, was enough to put him on some paranoid Washington watchlist these days. Cold warriors tended to sleep with their eyes open.

He reached for a folder of papers that the other man handed him, thin, but important looking, red leather, and opened it. "How far up does this go?" He muttered as he started to scan the pages, skimming the ones of lesser importance until he found what he had been looking for and what he had simultaneously dreaded. PROJECT WIDEAWAKE the headline read.

"All the way up." Azazel replied. There was no doubt about that. The three page document installing a special force of FBI and CIA agents with the directive to "identify and target possible mutant terrorism", listing funding numbers and a few guidelines and rules that left enough room for a number of very vague interpretations of the Bill of Rights was signed and approved by seal with the slim handwriting of the President of the United States, the last letter ending in his typical long drawn flourish of a y. "Just as I thought…" Erik said in a low voice, closing the folder. There was no need to get copies of this – no court in this world would support their case anyways - especially not against such a powerful adversary. "That´s how it begins." It was ironic almost, the same patterns even though he was certain that if Charles were here right now, he would still deny it. He tried to feel bitter about that but found he couldn´t. What had happened at that beach, the bullet deflecting into his friend´s spine made it difficult now and then to feel resentment besides remorse.

"We should find a safe place," Azazel suggested. "Get out of this town. This country. See where we can go. I have friends in high places. We could leave the States for good, all of us, and never be bothered by any of these."

Erik shook his head. "I have witnessed genocide, once in my life is more than I ever wanted to see. I do not intend to be a bystander." He placed the folder on the table, looked at it for a moment. "We should rather make sure that this never comes to frutition."

He could tell by the way Mystique looked at him that the young woman was still feeling uneasy, but for now ignored it. Life was hard, a lot harder than many watned to admit, harder than she probably imagined even though he had never doubtd she had had her fair share of a taste of resentment and hardship. He suppressed a sigh. "Maybe you should contact your friends about alternatives to running away" he said and Azazel gave a nod, then, out of nowhere, disappeared, leaving only a thin whif of red smoke behind. He had understood it as an order, Erik noted. Well... that was as good as anything else. They would have to act. And the first act would have to be against Partridge. Then to find out whether he was the figurehead of the puppet, and if he was the latter who the puppet master was.

Mystique:

She watched the small patch of smoke disappear, then turned back towards Erik. He merely gave her a long, thoughtful look, then turned. She didn´t know him as well as she had known Charles, not quite yet, but she knew that expression on his face. "Drink?" he asked, walking towards the mini bar. She shook her head, if he wanted an answer he would have to turn and see her make the motion. It was deliberate.

"I am not going to kill this man."

He had picked a bottle of Whiskey from the bar and now did turn at her, scowling faintly. "I didn´t…" he began, but she continued. "I am not going to kill, Erik." She could read it in his eyes, it was a thought, the very thought he had been thinking of, moments ago and if he had not intended her to do it, the shapeshifer who would easily be able to take over the identity of a bodyguard and deliver a bullet, he was thinking it now, because she had forced him to. "Did I say you should?" His question bore the trace of indignation, at least that was what it sounded like to her. He reached for a second glass, handed it to her and placed it down to the side when she refused to accept it. He sat down, one leg bent , knee on the bed, right in front of her, without touching, just looking at her, not even taking a sip. "You killed Shaw." she stated. "And you killed before. But I can´t do that."

He paused for a moment, looked down, then at her. "I will not ask of you what you do not want to do." he said calmly. "I would not do that. But the man is a danger. I have seen his like before. It is better to have him out of the way one way or the other, before he can act on all the bigotry and hate he is capable of. I am not asking you to do this, I am merely saying there have been others that were never stopped and the world keeps regretting it."

She braved his gaze, then leaned back, unconsciously creating more distance between them . "But you ´ve been considering it." she said her yellow eyes fixed on him. "sending me as your henchwoman. It´s a practical thing to have a shapeshifter on your side, isn´t it?"

He gave her that look again, the one just on the brink of annoyance but she believed he looked a little hurt as well. When he spoke, his voice sounded a little louder, a little more tense. "You´re assuming," he said. "We didn´t even talk about plans yet."

"But you want to kill him."

A pause. "If WIDEAWAKE is what it looks like to be it´s a first attempt to identify mutants." He sounded like he was explaining something to a child. Patiently, so annoyingly. "The next step, because we don´t all look like mutants, will be to mark us. Whether it´s a star on your jacket or a collar around your neck will not make a difference. So yes, if what he looks like to be is what he is, we would do better to deal with him. Before he beats us to it, my dear."

The last words sounded belittling in her ears even though he probably didn´t even intend them like that. They had grown close in the last two months, sometimes more a physical than an emotional closeness it seemed in moments like these. Mystique could see his point, but it irked her all the same. Just as Charles had sometimes been too blue eyed, Erik was too pessimist. Why did she have to be the only healthy mix, tossed into this bizarre kind of triangle? She didn´t reply and he gave a sigh after a moment. "I know this is hard. It´s not as things ought to be. But I believe you know that, don´t you. You would have stayed with him, if you didn´t."

She got up before he could continue. Bringing up Charles now that she was unsure about her decision was an insensitive move and he better know that. "I came with you because I believed you would do something instead of just talk. But doing something does not have to mean kill." Truth be told, she felt at a loss which probably helped put her on edge. She had seen Partridge, had heard him speak….and later, when she had briefly taken over for his bodyguard…truth be told that had only supported the disgust she had developed for the man in that hearing. Apparently, he trusted his bodyguard, confided in him, at least as far as anti mutant slurs went. _I tell you, Dave, I´d disown my boy if I found out he was an abomination such as that scum. This Xavier guy claims there are thousands like that, can you imagine that? Walking right among us, expecting the same rights and liberties without even being human? That´s going to be the end of this nation as we know it, let me tell you that. _

Truth be told Erik was probably right.

"I´m going to sleep." She announced and if he had to say anything on that at least right now he was smart enough not to, and also to not comment on her choosing the separate bed tonight. She had her own deal of brooding to do, but she spent quite a time facing the distant wall pretending to be sleeping while he was still browsing the report.


	4. Chapter 3 - Foreboding

_Author´s note:_

_Jenna of the Red Robes:__ Well in that case I hope you´ll be happy again now. Thanks for the great compliment. :) Hope you´ll keep enjoying this. _

**Chapter 3**

**Foreboding**

Mystique:

_I will not kill, not even for you_. Minutes later, while she was still pretending to sleep he had told her, accusingly, that she had maybe stayed with is old friend for too long, that the other man had infected her mind with the same naïve ideas of peaceful coexistence Charles himself was suffering from. Erik´s words had not been friendly, but she had endured them, ignoring the fact that she saw pain edged on his face as well. Erik, she had decided, was battling his own demons, his own anger and guilt that had come with leaving Charles at that beach and so she had let him lash out verbally. Calling her naïve. He had done so just once and in an impulsive moment, but it had hurt. Eventually however, they had sat down and talked. Erik was a strategist, he had hunted men before he said, and she had no doubt about his precision and foresight. However, in the end he had, it seemed, considered her doubts and they had come up with a plan together.

It felt like a conspiracy and that it was for sure, plans to break into the office complex Partridge used. A building near Capitol Hill, not too far from the centre of legislative power, yet far enough to be overlooked by tourists and others that did not pay too much attention. The next three days had been scouting – mostly herself, clad into the outer appearance of cleaning staff and assistants and once even Partridge himself, scouting, keeping her eyes open and reporting back to Erik. He had not been convinced but had agreed on other measurements first. Not to kill right away but use other ways. Leave no traces. Partridge´s plans concerning Wideawake needed to be destroyed. Not because they made any illusion about that idea being out there in the world now, not with a large number of congressmen having heard it, but as a warning.

They had agreed that the folders Partridge had given out to the congressmen were top secret documents, therefore they would not be copied and multiplied beyond what the general had already given out. That meant a puzzle piece of destroying file by file but meant there was a definite number of things to do. Therefore, as a first step to their plan, Angel and Azazel had spent the entire last night making their way from one office to the next, protected by the darkness of night, jumping back and forth between offices and the hotel and consulting with her for the next location. One office, two…more and more. In each they would find a document, sealed in a safe, locked in a cabinet or drawer, stored away like the secret it was as if the owners of these offices felt like members of a secret club. Azazel had transported them into the respective office, Angel, like an angel of destruction, had developed a proud joy setting each document aflame, tuning her powers precisely that it would merely consume the papers and cause no other harm. One little huff of air and another secret would burst into flame, not even leaving dust behind. She had talked of that proudly afterwards while Mystique had remembered with a pang of sadness that it had been Charles teaching the girl how to use her powers so precisely.

After that, after more than 150 offices in one night, more than 150 documents put to flame, that had only left them the most important part – Partridges office, headquarters as they called it among themselves. Strangely, the entire operation felt a bit like the boy scouts and that meant probably that some on their team were taking it too lightly, like some fun adventure. Mystique had learned early in life that serious things were always serious, no laughing matter and had kept her remarks about Angel´s enthusiasm to herself – the girl was her age, maybe a year or two younger but so much more naïve it seemed. And that was what Erik had called _her_…

Stage two meant they would all go. This night. Locks and steel walls were no difficulty with Erik of course, Mystique´s shape shifting would provide useful to distract some of the guards, Azazel would get them past those. They would get rid of all plans that existed of Wideawake, eliminate every piece of evidence on paper and computer. That was merely a first step of course. A warning that Partridge would hopefully be smart enough to read right. If he understood that the sudden vanishing of his entire precious programme was a warning, he´d stop and be fine with it Mystique hoped, would abandon his ambitions at investivating Cuba and they would never have to continue with more drastic measures. Erik, of course, doubted that would be the end of it, but had agreed to the warning shot. With there being so many eye witnesses to the documents, that made sense. Partridge would hopefully be smart enough to put pieces together, to read what handwriting there was in a few twisted metal doors and objects. She hoped he would. And she hoped the man would see that this was a warning whereas killing him would just have been that easy.

The night was calm in this part of the city. Merely an occasional car, the lights of the centre and governing districts in a faint half distance. There would be one guard in front of the building only, a night watchman inside. This was no high security tract after all, merely the office of a medium ranking military with a crazy idea of an anti mutant programme as Erik had told her.

Sure enough, the documents proposed a task force to go after them, the "Brotherhood of mutants", wherever Partridge had taken that name from, to track down and take into custody to investigate their part in the Missile Crisis. Do determine their level of involvement with the Soviet government and in general to what extent they had aimed at escalating the situation. Erik had told her this was just the beginning. _That it always started like that. Blame a group for one event and set the public firmly against them. Just like it was when the Reichstag was burning in ´33. Nothing easier than that. _

"Let´s go for it." Now, his voices sounded calm, not a whisper, but low. "Azazel will take us inside, Mystique you will watch out for the guard while I see to the computers. Angel, you stay with Azazel. No funny stunts."

Clasping hands and they were in. A bleak, concrete building and they were headed to the end of the corridor. Mystique could feel her heart hammering as she changed her appearance into that of night watchman who wouldn´t be on duty for another 15 minutes. She would claim to be early. They would not take long. She gave Erik a curt nod, turned down the other direction of the corridor. As she walked she could hear the click, caused by his powers, opening the door to the general´s office. The computer was in there but there was another one in an adjacent room. He would bend and twist the metal in each machine on the entire corridor. Just to make sure. Angel would be backup, Azazel would be with him if there was a sudden need to escape.

Mystique turned a corner, her boots clicking on the concrete, a flashlight thudding against her left thigh. She felt the holster to her right. Empty. Starting a shift meant getting your weapon.

The route she took to get to the entrance hall could mean she had taken the side entrance, her "colleague" would not even feel alarmed. And indeed he wasn´t. The man who got up from his seat when she swiped her card through the door gave a brief look a recognition. "Hey mate." The other was maybe in his late 20s, a stocky guy who looked rather fit, more so than the slightly pudgy watchman she had impersonated the other day. The one she was impersonating right now was one Chad Miller, no guy of many words which made things easier. She merely gave a nod. "I´m a bit early, hope that´s no problem?" The other shook his head. "Even better actually. We have a few extra things tonight. Boss tightened security around the place earlier today, there are an additional two men back at the office, another three arriving soon. Oh and also…" he stepped over to the locker where they kept the weapons. "Special weapons from today onward. Was sort of a secret thing, I only got told briefly earlier. They don´t look too fancy, but for some reason the boss wants us to wear those now instead of our regular guns."

She could feel her heart skip a beat as she stepped closer to receiver her weapon. The guns as she realized with dread were plastic.

Lancer

"I do not want any casualties." he had said. "I am not going to be held responsible for the deaths of innocent Americans and neither will you, General."

"There is no risk in that. This is going to be a clean, fast thing." Partridge had said. "We target only those that are on our watchlist. Lehnsherr, Darkholme, those and two others mostly. They need to be put into custody and questioned, they are the ones that potentially are dangerous. But with all due respect Sir, at the same time, I do ask your permission for funding for an identification programme. We are facing a new kind of threat here, and this threat is especially dangerous if, like in case of one of them it seems, there are ties to our enemies on the other side of the world. Someone like Magneto cooperating with the Soviets for instant might be disastrous for the run of the war."

"I prefer not to call it that, general." He had gotten up. "and neither should you. That kind of rhetoric has taken us to the brink of an actual war. I agree the incident in Cuba has to be investigated but that is not my jurisdiction directly. I disagree with everything beyond that at this point." The other man had held his tongue but through the strange dull feeling of his increasingly toned down telepathic powers Lancer had felt the general´s disdain. He did not care much, the feeling was pretty much mutual.

"The funding is for the initial stage of Wideawake only." he had insisted. "To caption Lehnsherr and his Brotherhood, any other action will need my authorization, is that understood, general?"

Even through the dulling effect of the painkillers, the man´s hostility had almost been palpable, like a rancid smell in the air. "Certainly, Sir." The man liked to deliberately edge around his title, Lancer knew, few did that and he could tell Partridge was doing so on purpose. He had not lingered on that, he had not felt in the mood to put a child into place. "Good." he had said curtly. "That would be all, General Partridge."

Leaving, the other man had turned, then paused. "I request security detail to protect my office," he had said. The brazenness, even though it made sense. "These are sensitive documents, not just the briefing papers of course, I am speaking of intelligence details, Sir. We have started to store them on actual computers. A nolvelty, a lot more long lived than paper. The main data can be accessed with passwords only" Lancer had already returned to other things, took a deliberate pause. "Make sure to move these to safer channels, General." he had said. "Five men for the next week, starting tonight, then I expect you to have everything secured." He had given the man a stern look and been responded to with a quick nod before the general had left the room.

Lancer was replaying the conversation that had taken place this afternoon for the uptenth time, had done so often in the last hours. So far, he had not heard any more requests from Partridge. Of course he´d not trust the man, but he had his own ways to infiltrate the general´s home turf. One of the guards working at the building was his constant connection to the goings on.

He placed a small stack of papers aside. An entirely different matter and topic, but it was difficult to take his mind off that had happened at that beach and what Partridge intended to make of it. How could be as calm about it as he intended to be? He was one of them after all…

The familiar, gentle tug on the edge of his mind as her little consciousness popped into his centre of attention was a welcome distraction and he smiled, knowing her around the corner, trying to scare him with her little games of peek a boo before she jumped out. She would do that sometimes, hop out from behind one of the doors or even hide under his massive desk where she had discovered a little secret door. She´d not grown out of that yet and he was glad of that. It would probably happen soon enough. He didn´t look up, pretended he had no idea she was standing by that door. He felt a faint feeling of giddiness blur through his mind, probably she was trying to stifle a giggle, focusing hard on a futile attempt at scaring her old man. He set his name under a document. "I know you are there, Caroline. You wouldn´t want to scare your dad now, wouldn´t you?" Her head, puffy cheeked with dirty blonde hair turned the corner first. "You saw me. You cheated." She reproached him and came in, her arms crossed on her chest. "Are you gonna read to me daddy?" He gave a sigh. "In a little while, sweetheart," he said. "I have to finish this." She hopped closer to the desk, got on her tiptoes as if trying to read the document upside down. "You always work." she stated with her little girl pout. He couldn´t hide a smile. "That´s because daddy has very important work to do." he said, suppressed an inner sigh and leant back. Actually, the child was right. He did work too much, but he was not the first time in that position and it came with the job. "How about you get ready, brush your teeth and I´ll be right up?" he suggested and for some reason that did the trick, instantly. The way she moved, suddenly almost mechanic, turning on her heels, sent a brief shocking sensation through his nerves. Damnit. This happened when he was overworked… he already had an apology on his lips, but bit it down. He could not. She would not understand it. Of course not. What would he say: _Sorry for making you turn around and obey? _He had noticed too late that he had briefly used his powers on his own daughter. Not in a drastic way, just keeping her from whining about an additional 10 minutes she might want to roam his office and chat about her careless day. He cursed himself. Things like that mustn´t happen. He really needed proper treatment. If he could not control these powers, it was best to dull them down.

He pushed his chair back on the heavy carpet, got up, picked her up. She was becoming too heavy for this almost already. "let´s see if we can find you a book, huh?" he said.

Maybe, he thought, he should leave these additional five men to Patridge a few days longer he thought to himself. As much as he disliked the man and his radicalism, there was certainly a necessity to keep powers such as these out of dangerous hands, was there not? At least some that had maybe proven they had tried to kill innocents? He took a mental note to get into touch with his contact the next day. Make sure Partidge´s data was being transferred quickly so the security detail on the building could be reduced again. For now he knew it was an additional five, making them seven instead of two and this was the first night. Seven guards, plastic guns. He hoped that would put the general´s paranoia to rest.


End file.
